Songs of Sap and Sorrow
by SnoozlesandSnuggles
Summary: Takes place right after Miracle Queen, the season 3 finale. Full description inside, since it contains some spoilers. All from Marinette's perspective. Lukanette.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi there! This story takes place right after Miracle Queen, the season 3 finale. It's all from Marinette's perspective. She has decided to give up on the idea of a romantic relationship with Adrien after realize things won't work out between them and he might actually have a shot at a healthy relationship with Kagami. This story is about the process of moving on from that heartbreaking decision. Lukanette. (P.S. The sorrow is the process of grieving, and the sap is what Luka brings to her life.)**

* * *

Staring into those green eyes, I felt a new wave of heaviness. My chest constricted, and I realized again the weight of what was going on in my heart.

_Siiiiiigh_

I dug a fingernail underneath the tape on the corner of the paper and used the freed edge to pull this poster off my wall. I carefully folded the corners of the tape down onto the back of the picture; I wasn't willing to risk tearing the paper by pulling the tape all the way off. Then I stepped down from the chair I stood on in front of my desk.

I turned to cast my eyes over my bedroom. The furniture was all still there. My bed was still made. My sewing and design accoutrement was still neat and organized, each bobbin in its place. Taking down all the pictures of Adrien I'd accumulated over the past few months of pining after him hadn't changed any of that. Still, my room hadn't felt this empty in a while.

Heaving one more dramatic sigh, I slid the poster into a binder I'd gotten specifically for this and placed the whole, heavy thing into a desk drawer.

Giving up on Adrien wasn't as simple as realizing things weren't going to work out between us. I'd thought it would be. I'd thought, after the moment I'd seen him share an ice cream with Kagami and felt in my heart I should let him go, it would be as easy as telling myself I was letting him be happy. I'd felt good about it. I had gone home that day and helped my parents in the bakery. I'd worked on a new design for a crossbody handbag that evening after dinner. I hadn't even cried myself to sleep that night.

The next morning, though, I'd sat down in front of my computer to turn on the news while I practiced some needlework. When I typed in my password and was greeted by the giant picture of Adrien that was my screensaver, it really hit me. The pang in my chest was sudden and painful. Hot tears filled my eyes, blurred my vision, and streamed down my cheeks and nose. The fabric in my hands became heavy as lead. I didn't sob, but I wanted to.

It was just a wave of really intense sadness. It passed after a few minutes, and I foolishly thought it would be the worst thing I'd feel. The next wave came when Ayla texted me to say she and Nino were going to see a movie and were thinking of inviting Adrien but wanted to see if I was interested in joining them, too. I never even responded to her. I'd felt guilty about it, but I was shaking with sobs that time.

After I'd recovered from the second wave of sadness, I'd decided one of the best things I could do for myself at this point would be to take down all the obvious signs of Adrien in my home space. I'd changed my screensaver first, then set to taking down every picture I'd plastered on my walls. I'd bought the binder because, though I wanted to move past this infatuation as quickly as possible, it just didn't feel right to throw away all evidence of him at the drop of a hat. _There will come a day when I will feel right getting rid of all this for good_, I'd told myself. _But not everything has to happen today._

And so I found myself sitting in my desk chair, staring at newly-blank walls and feeling some measure of relief. I felt like I could breath again. It felt good.

I still cried myself to sleep that night.

* * *

I went to school the next day. Alya asked about the text. I told her I'd been wrapped up in designing all weekend. She seemed put out, but I just didn't feel like telling her I felt like I was collapsing in on myself.

The next few weeks went by. I pretended nothing had changed. I pretended I still had it bad for Adrien. I pretended not to be drowning. I pretended the world wasn't cast in a hazy grey.

"Right, Marinette?" Alya asked all of a sudden. Except, apparently, it _wasn't_ all of a sudden because I'd lost track of the conversation I was having a while ago.

My best friend looked at me expectantly. Rose, Mylene, and Alix looked right at me, too. Juleka narrowed her eyes a bit, cocking her head to the side at just the slightest angle. "We're all still going together to Kitty Section's practice after school, right?" Mylene asked, jogging my memory.

"Of course." The words left my smiling mouth automatically. Was it just me, or was everything going in slow motion?

"Marinette …" Juleka said so quietly I almost didn't hear her. She swept her bangs to one side nervously, and I saw her brows were knitted together. Before she could say whatever was on mind, though, the bell rang.

I jumped, then looked down. "Oh, I still have to take back my tray," I noticed aloud. "I'll see you girls in class!" I called over my shoulder as I rushed to the cafeteria tray return.

* * *

Sometime over the last few, hazy weeks, I'd taken to brining my sketchbook with me everywhere. I liked school and loved being with my friends, but all of the activities that had seemed so normal two weeks ago now had a tendency to be … too much for me. I'd found a new side to myself—an easily-overwhelmed side. Whenever things got too stimulating for me, it was a nice break to look over my sketches and make notes on them. I hadn't drawn anything new in a bit. Whenever I tried, I would take my pen to a new page in the notebook and feel instantly drained of all my energy. Even if I'd been inspired with a new idea just moments before, it was just … too hard to put it to paper. So I just made improvement notes on old designs.

I was doing just that, sitting on one of the deck chairs on the Liberty during Kitty Section's practice session. _Muslin might be a nicer fabric for this flower than burlap_, I thought, erasing what I'd written before and changing it to match my current temperament. The sun was beginning to set, and soon I had to strain my eyes to see what I was writing. I had run out of designs to look over, so I flipped back to the beginning of the sketchbook to start searching again. As I paged through my old ideas, however, I realized I didn't have anymore notes to make. Page after page was filled to the brim with my scrawled script, and I couldn't think of anything to add or change. Before I realized it, my heart was beating faster. My breath came in small, ragged puffs, and my fingers began to twitch outside of my control. Outside of my control. Everything. Everything was outside of my—

"Marinette?" A voice came from someone looming over me. I didn't look up. "Marinette," it called again, softer this time. A large hand reached out to steady my own.

I looked up. "Luka," I said, vaguely startled. There was worry clear in his teal eyes. I smiled, then chuckled a bit awkwardly. "I didn't realize … you guys had stopped playing." Most of my class had shown up to Kitty Section's Friday night practice/after-party. Adrien wasn't here, thank goodness. Alya'd told me with some disappointment that his dad had him studying all weekend. Now practice was apparently over, and there was music coming from some speakers hooked up to Nino's laptop. Everyone was talking and dancing in small groups around the Liberty's deck.

"We finished practice a little while ago," he answered, not returning my smile.

"O-oh," I said and blushed, moving my hands away from his in an attempt to withdraw a bit.

He sat down in the chair next to me. "What's new with you?" he asked slowly. He seemed strangely unsure of himself. "You looked pretty absorbed in your sketchbook there for a while. Working on a new design?"

"Oh, no," I said, waving my arms in front of me to indicate negatively. "Just … going over some of my old ones."

"Mind if I take a look?" he asked, finally smiling his usual, tender smile.

"Um, sure." I handed over my sketchbook. He could look at whatever he wanted in there; I didn't mind.

He flipped through the pages, stopping to admire each one. "Wow, Marinette," he said after a few minutes. "These are incredible." He stopped to look up and make eye contact with me. "You're a really skilled designer."

He just seemed so … sincere. It made me feel guilty for not having produced anything new in weeks. "Thanks." I looked away, unable to meet his steady gaze. Sometimes, when Luka looked at me … I felt like he could see right through to my soul. It was unsettling.

"Hey, I mean it," he said, and I could hear the frown in his voice. "With work like this, you'll have no trouble making a career for yourself."

"Yeah, well," I started, not wanting to expound on why I wasn't receiving his compliments more gracefully but also feeling compelled to correct his too-high view of me. "I haven't really done anything worthwhile lately."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I mean …" My eyes flicked back to his for a split second before I looked away again. "I just … I haven't designed anything new. In a while."

"Why not?"

Tears pricked painfully at my eyes. _Why not? I don't know. Maybe because it feels like my heart has been turned to stone. Ever since …_ I felt overwhelmed again. Luka was trying to be nice, like always, but I just couldn't handle him right now. It was too much. "I don't know." With that statement, a backstabbing tear broke free from its duct and slid down my right cheek.

Luka put his hand on my arm this time. It was warm. I hadn't even realized I was cold. I turned to look up at him. He was still frowning. "Hey, Marinette," he said, softly enough that no one else could hear. Not that they would have heard anyway; the music was pretty loud on the other side of the deck. "Are you doing okay?"

Anger rose up in my chest. I wanted to punch him. But I also wanted to rush into his arms and burst into tears on his shoulder. It's not like he didn't know I was going through kind of a lot. He didn't know specifics, but I'd broken down in his arms once a couple weeks ago, after all.

"I—" I got one word out before I gasped, sobs trying really hard to break out of my lungs. My stomach felt like a sinking pit.

"You know," Luka said, voice still soft. "It's okay to not be okay." I looked at him for a hard moment, and another tear ran down my cheek. "You don't have to tell me anything. I care about you and what's going on with you, but you don't owe me any explanation. If you'd rather not talk about it, we don't have to talk about it."

His words took the edge off my tears, and I didn't feel so urgently like my eyes were about to turn into waterfalls. I felt myself start to calm down. "Thank you," I managed quietly. "You're nice." I said it before I really thought about it.

He blushed and looked away. "You're really nice, too." He took his hand off my arm and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes.

I sniffed once before I asked, "Tired?"

"Meditating," he answered without opening his eyes. "I love it when everyone can get together, but sometimes big crowds make me feel anxious. Taking a break to center myself for a few minutes helps me."

"You feel anxious?" I asked. Anxious seemed like a strong word. I didn't know someone like calm, tranquil Luka ever felt anxious.

"Sometimes," he answered. "But it's not so big a deal if you know how to cope with it. It doesn't have to be a bad thing." He waited a few beats before he asked, "What about you? Do you ever feel anxious?"

"Oh, I don't know." I chuckled. He didn't press anymore. Glancing down at my sketchbook, I recalled the overwhelmed feeling I'd had a few minutes ago. "Maybe. Sometimes," I said, more to myself than to him.

He hummed a bit in response. He looked serene, sitting there against the back of the chair, his hands palms-up by his side.

I bit my lip, staring down at him. Then, tentatively, I reached out for the hand closest to me. I held it as I realigned myself to mirror his sitting position. Once settled, I peeked over at him, but his face didn't change. He didn't move his hand out of my grasp, so I kept it as I closed my eyes.

I wondered what I was supposed to be thinking of. _Meditating—what is that supposed to look like?_ "Steady breathing," I heard Luka say after a moment, breaking my nervous silence. "Inhale five counts, exhale five counts." I did as he said, counting to five as I inhaled and doing the same as I exhaled. Concentrating on counting and breathing, I felt myself relax the slightest bit.

We stayed like that for a couple of minutes. Then I felt him squeeze my hand, and I opened my eyes. Luka sat up, so I did the same, releasing his hand and blushing. I turned to face him, but he didn't say anything.

He jerked his head in the direction of the more active side of the deck. "Want to join everyone else?" he asked with a smile.

I smiled back and nodded.


	2. Chapter 2

**I realized I completely forgot Tikki until this chapter. I do want her and Ladybug and Cat Noir to be part of this story, but I also am going to avoid writing any akuma attack scenes because I don't think writing them would be very fun honestly. Plus, that's just not the ultimate point I'm trying to make with this.**

* * *

Another couple of weeks passed by, and I discovered another new side to myself: a restless side.

I hardly slept anymore. I wanted to, desperately, but I felt like my eyes just propped themselves open every night when my head hit my pillow. I just wasn't tired at all. Each morning at school around ten, though, the night would catch up with me and I'd have trouble keeping my heavy eyelids from drooping. It didn't seem fair.

Alya noticed one day. I'd fallen a little too close to sleep a few minutes before lunch. The bell rang, and my head, which I'd propped up with my chin in my hand, fell to my desk with a _bang_. My classmates snickered and continued packing up their textbooks, used to my clumsiness by now. Alya looked at me with furrowed brows, though. "Marinette? Are you doing all right?" she asked.

I rubbed my chin, hoping it wouldn't bruise later. "Mhm, I'm fine." I grinned back up at her. "You know me, always falling on something." I laughed good-naturedly.

"Girl, that's the third time this week you've fallen asleep in class," Alya responded with an accusatory tone. Her voice softened when she added, "It's not like you."

I frowned, then sighed. "Honestly, Alya, I'm fine. I just haven't been sleeping super well this week." I picked up my books as I tried to come up with a plausible excuse for the admission. "It—it's probably just stress. We have that exam in physics next week, and you know that's never been my strongest class."

We started walking towards the cafeteria. "If you're that worried about it, I can help you study." Alya brightened with the idea. "I can come over tonight and we can have a science slumber party!" She grinned.

"Oh, really, you don't have to—" I started to reject her offer.

"Don't bug about it, girl! We'll make it fun. We'll take breaks for movies and snacks!" She seemed really pleased with herself.

"I don't want to take you away from date night," I rationalized. It was true; I'd feel bad getting between her and Nino. But really, I just wasn't ready to explain the absence of Adrien's face on my walls. Alya hadn't been in my room in weeks, but she hadn't seemed to question it yet. Between having plans with her boyfriend and me insisting on the two of us hanging at her place to see her sisters, she hadn't quite put the pieces together yet. I knew I'd have to tell her eventually, but I wanted to put that conversation off for as long as I could.

"Nino can handle being apart for one Friday night," she shot back.

I waved my arms in front of my face at her. "No, Alya, really. I'd feel too bad! Let's just do it another time. Maybe tomorrow at your place?"

She frowned, mulling it over, undoubtedly not wanting to give into me. After a moment, she rolled her eyes. "Fiiiiiine," she relented. "Tomorrow. But you should totally bake some cookies for us!" Her smile had returned.

I smiled back. "Deal!" Just before we reached the cafeteria doors, I added, "Thanks for this. I really appreciate your help."

She seemed relieved, like all would soon be right with her world. "No problem."

* * *

Friday night, I baked the cookies I'd promised Alya. Baking was relaxing and required hardly any mental effort on my part. After all, these were Alya's favorite cookies; I'd baked them for her at least ten times before. I ate a quiet dinner with my parents, took a warm bath, and made myself some chamomile tea. I did everything I could think of to coax my body into a relaxed state, ready for sleep. I stayed up a little later than I usually would, hoping that would make me even a little more tired than I already was. When I climbed into bed, it all seemed to work. I felt exhausted. I shut my eyes, ready to let sleep overtake me.

Except it didn't. Hour after hour went by. I spent the time turning from side to side every fifteen minutes or so, only letting myself check the time on my phone when I felt really desperate. At one point, I picked my phone up to watch a couple of videos, hoping that might calm my brain down. When even that didn't work, I scrolled through my apps, looking for anything to do to pass time. My eyes landed on my contacts, and I remembered something Luka had told me right before I'd left Kitty Section's practice a couple Friday nights ago.

"_You know, Marinette," _he'd said and looked into my eyes in that way he always does. _"If you ever do feel anxious, you can call me. Any time, yeah?"_ I'd nodded at that, then turned to head home.

A muffled noise from beside me took my attention from my phone, and I looked over. "Marinette?" Tikki yawned, rubbing sleep out of her eyes.

"Hey, Tikki." I felt bad for waking her.

She sat up in the bed next to me. "What are you doing up?" She glanced at the clock on my desk. "It's almost four in the morning." Then she looked back at me sadly.

I smiled, but it didn't reach my eyes. "I'm having a little trouble falling asleep," I told her.

"Again?" she asked sympathetically. Tikki was no stranger to this new phase of insomnia I'd gotten into. Even when I managed to keep my restlessness quiet all night, she still woke each morning to find dark circles underneath my eyes. She was so sweet about it, though. She'd often turn on some music on my computer and flit around me, encouraging me out of bed. Then she'd help me get ready for the day quickly enough that I could make some coffee to drink on the way to school. Really, she was a dear.

"It's Saturday." I wove her off. "I can take a nap if I get tired later." She still frowned. "I'm sorry I woke you up."

"Oh, Marinette," she said kindly. "I'm sorry you're having so much trouble." She looked right into my eyes. "Do you want to talk about anything?"

I knew she meant do I want to talk about Adrien. But I really didn't. I wanted more to distract myself from those thoughts. I just wanted to forget that he was even troubling me. I looked back at my phone. "Not really."

"I know it's been really hard," she told me. "But talking to someone about it might help. It doesn't have to be me, but you should try reaching out to someone."

I sighed. "I know. You're right." Tikki usually gave solid advice and seldom let me get away with anything. She was a good friend for that. "I'll think about it." I gave her a small hug. "For now, let's go back to sleep. I'm feeling like I actually can now."

She nodded, and we both snuggled back under my covers. Tikki was asleep in seconds, like usual. After a few minutes, I dozed off.

Only to wake back up with a gasp half an hour later. I grabbed my phone from underneath my pillow before I thought much about it. My hands shook lightly as I unlocked the screen. When I made the call, I heard the dial tone ring once, twice, three times, four times, five—

"Hello?" A raspy voice answered, thick with sleep.

"L-Luka," I said, my own voice dry.

"Marinette?" he asked, drawing out the last syllable of my name. Yup, he'd definitely been in a deep sleep just a moment ago. And why shouldn't he have been? It was like four fifteen in the morning now. Normal people slept at this hour, right? I heard him shift on the other side of the phone. "Is everything okay?"

I looked nervously over at Tikki, who was still fast asleep. "Um, actually …" I started, trying to move out of bed quietly so I wouldn't wake her up again. I walked over to my closet, closing the door behind me and sitting cross-legged on the floor. "It's kind of not."

"Not what?" Luka had woken up a little, from the sound of it, but I figured he was still a little sleep-logged.

"Um, just, that things … aren't … totally okay." I suddenly wanted to end this conversation, not really sure how to begin to voice what was bubbling up in my chest. But I felt so guilty for waking him up, and I knew I'd feel way worse if I just said never mind and had just woken him for nothing. So I pressed on. "I'm having—" I heaved a sigh, brining my hand up to my brow. "Gosh, this is so lame." I shook my head, my words temporarily frozen.

"It's not lame," his voice came from the other end. He sounded more aware, now. I heard some rustling, and I imagined him sitting up in bed. "What's going on? Are you okay?" he asked again.

"I'm fine," I replied reflexively, not wanting him to worry. "I just … had, um, this dream."

"A dream?" he questioned. "Like, a bad dream?"

I nodded, even though I knew he couldn't see me. "Um, yeah." I started shivering, but I didn't feel very cold.

He waited for a moment before asking, "What was it about?"

"I …" I thought about it, trying desperately to grasp at the remnants of what I was sure I'd seen only a few minutes ago. "I'm so sorry. I don't remember." I shook my head again, my top half still hunched over my legs.

"Hey, hey." His voice was soothing. I took a deep breath in. "It's okay. You don't have to be sorry. Whatever it was, it scared you?"

"Um, yeah," I said again. "I just woke up feeling like something was really off."

"I understand," he responded softly. "I've had dreams like that before."

"That you didn't remember?" I asked.

"Yeah," he answered. "Sometimes I remember them later, but not always." We were silent for a moment, and I stopped shaking. "I'm really sorry that scared you."

"It's okay." I thought about it before adding, "I haven't been sleeping super great lately."

"Since when?" he asked almost immediately.

"For the past couple weeks." I was embarrassed, in a way, even though I knew it wasn't my fault that I couldn't get to sleep.

"I'm sorry," he said.

I laughed lightly. "What are _you_ apologizing for?"

"Not apologizing," he defended, matching my laugh. "I just hate that you haven't been sleeping. I've been there. It's no fun." I didn't respond to that. He was right; not sleeping was the worst. "Did you have trouble falling asleep tonight?"

"Yeah, I did," I confessed. "I only slept for like … a half hour before I had that dream."

"Geez, Marinette, I'm so sorry," he commiserated. "Any idea what's been keeping you up?"

"Mm. Yeah, sort of," I admitted, but didn't expound on it.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked. I considered the offer without responding for a moment. I was tempted to say no, not at all, then I thought about what it might feel like to get some of these confused feelings off my chest. My mind flashed back to what Tikki had said about how it might help to talk to someone.

Luka didn't press me, just waited for my response. "Not yet," I finally said, slowly, communicating my reluctance at the topic. "But it is something I'd like to talk about. Thank you for offering. That means a lot to me."

"I completely understand," he returned, and I believed him. "Thanks for calling."

I laughed openly at that, uncurling myself to lean back against a wall. "Yeah, you're welcome for waking you up at four thirty in the morning. Maybe later, I'll swing by and snap all the strings on your guitar. You know, like a real friend."

I could hear him suppressing some laughter, probably trying to make sure he was the only one in his house awake at four thirty. "Really, though, I like talking to you," he said when he'd calmed down.

I blushed at that. "Yeah, I like talking to you, too. Thanks for answering."

"Anytime." He was quiet then, and so was I. I wasn't quite ready to try sleeping again. I felt bad keeping him on the phone, but I couldn't motivate myself to hang up yet.

"So …" I said, trying to think of anything that would keep him here with me a little while longer. "What do you have going on today?"

"Not much," he replied with a yawn. "It's my day off. I was going to go for a run at some point. It's supposed to be a nice day."

"Oh yeah?" I asked.

"Yeah. Not too hot, not too cold." I didn't know Luka ran. "Would you want to go with me?"

I snorted. "I don't do a lot of running, personally."

"Oh no?" he questioned.

"No, it's not really for me." I fidgeted uncomfortably. "I'm not coordinated enough for athletics." It wasn't really true, but it felt true. I knew that Ladybug and I were one and the same, but sometimes it felt like we were two different people—like her strengths didn't transfer over to me.

"You don't have to be coordinated to run," Luka told me. "I like it more for the mental effect than the physical. Besides, you seemed fine at the ice rink before, and skating involves a lot more coordination than running." I could almost hear him shrug.

"Yeah, but you were helping me that time," I deflected. "What do you mean, mental effect?"

"It clears my head," he answered. "I don't know how valid the whole runner's high thing is, but I always feel better when I do it regularly. It's almost like it brings me out of my mind and into my body, which I need sometimes."

"Out of your mind and into your body," I repeated. "Huh." That sounded pretty cool, actually.

"Yeah, but I'm not trying to convince you to come with me or anything," he backtracked. "You definitely don't have to do anything you don't want."

"Well …" I stalled, considering. "What if we just went for a walk? Would you be okay with that instead?" I didn't want to take away his running time, especially since I'd already taken away his sleeping time.

"A walk sounds great."


	3. Chapter 3

It was almost ten o'clock the next morning, and I was making some French press coffee down in the bakery storefront. I glanced at the clock as an alarm on my phone sounded. I turned off the timer I'd set and pressed down on the plunger to strain the coffee before pouring it into two mugs I'd brought down from the kitchen in our apartment. Right on time, I heard the chime on the front door ring.

"Hey, Luka," I greeted, looking up from the coffee.

"Hey, Ma-Ma-Marinette," he replied with a smirk, strolling over to the counter where I stood.

I narrowed my eyes at him, but couldn't help smiling back. "We get it—you're funny," I told him sarcastically. His smirk turned into a genuine grin. "I made some coffee. I figured we might need it."

"Oh, wow, thanks," he said and leaned over the edge of the counter to peer at the drinks.

He was just a little too close for comfort, and I felt my cheeks go hot as I leaned back from him. "H-how do you take it?" My eyes wouldn't meet his.

"However is fine," he answered easily, not backing off in the slightest.

"Well, if you're sure," I started, turning to walk just outside the storefront to the fridge, my face still burning. "Then I'm just going to make it the way I like."

"Sounds perfect," I heard him call as I opened the fridge and reached for the cream.

I walked back to him, still too nervous to make eye contact. "So, how'd you sleep?" I started pouring cream into the two mugs, taking a spoon out of a drawer to stir them up.

"Well, I slept pretty well until about four thirty." I met his eyes, and my expression must've looked as horrified as I felt, because he quickly backtracked. "I'm sorry, I'm completely joking." His face was devoid of its usual calm. He looked mildly panicked.

My shocked guilt melted, and I laughed lightly. "Right, it's okay. Really. I'm still sorry I woke you up."

"I'm not," he replied, his steady demeanor back with a vengeance. "Honestly, I'm really honored you trust me enough to call in the middle of the night."

"Yeah, well," I said lamely, handing him his mug and then taking a sip out of mine.

"Did you get back to sleep at all?" he asked.

"I did, for a little while." I'd actually gotten a couple solid hours of sleep after we'd said our goodbyes. "What about you?"

He shook his head, bringing his cup down from his lips. "No, but I did get to work on a new song for a bit instead, so I didn't mind."

"Oh really?" I questioned. "Can I hear it?"

His face brightened. "Sure, but I don't have my guitar." I nodded at that. "Maybe we can walk over to my place and I can play it for you there."

"We can do that," I affirmed eagerly. "I'm up for walking anywhere." My voice got softer as I added, "And I'd really like to hear it."

* * *

Our walk was nice. The day was clear and cloudless, a slight chill giving a crispness to the air around me. It felt really good to get outside—like the sun was burning away a little of the hazy gloom I'd been feeling. Luka and I talked and laughed easily. Occasionally, I'd walk a little too closely to him and my fingers would brush against his. I'd blush and back off. Occasionally, his long strides would propel him a little too quickly for my leisurely pace. I'd start jogging exaggeratedly and he'd notice me, laugh, and pretend to run in slow motion while I caught up. We reached his houseboat on the Seine within a half hour, but it felt like only a few minutes to me.

I was washed in a playful energy as I followed Luka inside to retrieve his guitar, and I asked impulsively, "Can we sit on the deck? I'm not done being outside yet."

He chuckled. "Me neither." I grinned, feeling like a little kid as I practically bounced down the stairs to his bedroom. When I bounded into him at the bottom, I had the decency to sense some degree of undignified embarrassment. But then he laughed again, and my heart felt lighter.

We made our way back up and took two seats on the Liberty's deck. Luka started tuning his guitar. "You wanted to hear the song I was working on this morning, right?" he checked, pausing in his task to glance up at me. His cheeks had the lightest tinge of pink. Was he nervous?

"I'd love to, if you don't mind," I confirmed, crossing my legs to settle in and listen. I wanted to put him at ease, but I wasn't sure how. He hummed in response, then finished tuning before he moved his fingers from the small pegs near the top of the instrument to the strings farther down. When he started playing, my eyes stayed trained on his hands. Watching his fingers glide up and down, side to side in patterns I didn't understand was transfixing. As the melody began to flow, the notes floated off of the strings to wrap around me. I closed my eyes slowly, feeling the music more than hearing it. The sound was soft and gentle. It felt like Luka. Then, rather abruptly, the notes turned sour and sad. I frowned, my eyes still shut, and my chest felt like it was contracting. All of a sudden, the song changed again, and this time the melody had a mysterious sort of brevity to it. Then it just stopped.

My eyes snapped open to meet Luka's. The intense look he was giving me brought back a memory I hadn't even realized I'd been pressing to the back of my heart: _"You're the most extraordinary girl, Marinette—as clear as a musical note and as sincere as a melody. You're the music that's been playing inside my head since the first day we met."_ I blushed, but I couldn't look away from him. Still, I knew he wasn't about to break the silence; he was waiting for some kind of response from me. I cleared my throat to compose myself a bit. "It's beautiful." The compliment was genuine, even if it came out with a shaky nervousness.

"Thank you." He finally broke eye contact with me, turning his eyes down to the guitar in his lap, and I felt equal parts relieved and disappointed. "It's not finished yet."

"Still, I really like it." I wish I knew more about music so I could better praise him. "Does it have any lyrics?" I asked, trying to continue the conversation that way instead.

He shook his head. "I'm better with this than with words." He picked the guitar up and started playing a simple tune.

My brows knit together. "I don't think so." His eyes lifted back to mine, but he didn't stop playing. "I think you have a way with words—more than you realize. I bet, if you did ever add lyrics, they'd be as lovely as the music."

He smiled softly. "Thanks, Marinette, that's sweet of you. Juleka's really more of a poet than me, though."

"Really? I didn't know Juleka even wrote poetry," I confessed. Juleka was so reserved. I guess there was probably a lot I didn't know about her.

His smile widened. "She and Rose co-write all of Kitty Section's songs. They're a dynamic duo." He looked so proud. My heart swelled. It was nice to think of him as a proud older brother. "With them for writers, I never thought it was necessary for me to try my hand at lyrics. I like to let my solo songs speak for themselves." He shrugged and poured more of his attention into the movements of his fingers, his proud expression gone as quickly as it had appeared.

The explanation sounded like a cop-out to me, but I let it slide. He seemed to be closing off at the topic, and I didn't want to push him, especially since he'd spent so much time lately listening to me without pushing back. Instead, I said, "When you were playing, it felt like the song changed a few times. Was that on purpose?"

He nodded, a faint smile returning to his lips. "I was thinking about you this morning when we got off the phone." My cheeks heated again at that. "You have a very strong, compassionate presence. It radiates from you. I can feel it when you walk into a room. But when you called, you sounded so distressed. And I remembered it seemed like something was wrong the last time we talked, too. It made me hope that whatever is going on in your heart would be healed."

I was stunned—by his kindness in thinking of me, but more so by his honesty. It reminded me of another friend of mine … "How do you do that?" I asked, still shocked by his revelation.

"Do what?" he asked, sounding confused as he finally stopped playing and set his guitar down to lean against his chair.

I shook my head at him, keeping my gaze on my hands in my lap. "Just … how do you say … like, what you're thinking? How can you be so honest?" My fingers lightly clawed at empty air in frustration. I had trouble even forming my thoughts into words, let alone voicing them aloud. Why was it so easy for everyone else?

"You do it, too." Luka's voice came more softly than I expected. I just shook my head again, still unable to look at him. "You just told me what you thought of me." That got me. I lifted my eyes to meet his, but he was looking away from me now. The pink in his cheeks had resurfaced. "I meant about the song," he added after a moment, turning his gaze back to mine. "You told me what you thought of the song I'm writing."

"I guess," I said, my shoulders drooping as some of the built-up tension from a moment ago left my body. "But that's different. That's … sort of easy, I guess? I don't know. It's hard to put into words, but I don't think I'm … very good at talking about what I'm feeling." The statement came out painfully slow and disjointed, but it felt … just good to be able to voice at least that much.

"I get it, Marinette." Luka's expression was sympathetic. "I understand what you mean. Vulnerability…" He sighed and brought a hand up to his neck. "It's something I've been working on for a long time. I still don't feel very good at it. But talking about my feelings is … important. It doesn't have to be the most comfortable thing to do, but I don't think it's healthy for it to be agonizing, either. I think vulnerability is just necessary." This moment felt heavy. It felt like something that would impact the rest of my life. At least, I _wanted_ it to be something that would impact the rest of my life. I felt like Luka was telling me something true.

"I really want to do that. I want … to be open and honest." I looked at him with some desperation. "How do I do that?"

Luka laughed, and my heart throbbed painfully. I scrunched my eyebrows at him, hoping he'd pick up on my surprise and hurt that he'd laugh at me in this moment. "I'm sorry! Agh, it's not funny. I've just—I've been there. I've felt what you're feeling." He gestured at me, his hands outstretched. "It's just, like, baby steps, you know?" I bet I looked thoroughly confused because he continued on that train of thought. "Ugh, I wish I had something better to say to you right now. For me, it's been a lot of practice with little things. It started with identifying my own emotions to myself."

"Okay," I said slowly. "Like … what? What do you mean?" I was still lost.

He ran his fingers through his hair, thinking before he answered again. "Okay, so … when my dad passed away, I went to a lot of counseling."

My eyes went wide with shock. I'd had no idea his father had died. Juleka never talked about her dad, so I just assumed it was a subject I should leave alone. "I'm so sorry for your loss," I said automatically.

Luka smiled a small smile. "Thanks. I mean, it was years ago, but thank you. Juleka and I were both little. Neither of us handled it very well. My mom enrolled us in grief counseling. It really helped. I think a lot of people grow up with this idea of counseling as something crazy people go to. Or, like, really troubled people. And so they never try it because they think, 'Well, I'm not crazy.' But it's not like that. It's, like, getting a checkup for my mind—just like I would go to a doctor and get a checkup for my body. I've gone off and on since the whole thing with my dad, just to keep my mental health well. Of course, I go when I think something is wrong—just like I would go to a doctor if I thought maybe I'd broken my arm or something. But, sometimes, I just schedule an appointment when I have a lot on my mind."

I nodded at him, but I didn't have anything to contribute to the conversation. I'd never been to counseling. I'd never even considered it. "Sorry," he apologized suddenly. "I didn't mean to load you down with stuff about counseling. It's just the first thing I think of when I think about practicing vulnerability."

"It's okay," I reassured. "I don't mind at all. I don't … do you think maybe that's something I could benefit from?"

He considered for a moment. "Maybe. I wish I had a better answer than that. It can be really helpful, especially if you're going through something and you want some help navigating your emotions. It's not the end-all, be-all solution, and it takes a good counselor, too. But I could recommend someone at the place I volunteer at. Unless that would make you uncomfortable."

I nodded again, still unsure. "It might help, I guess. Thank you. Where do you volunteer?"

"There's a counseling center down the street from the college where I take classes," he answered with a grin. "It's a great place. I work the front desk on Monday and Friday afternoons. They give me volunteer hours for a scholarship I have."

"I didn't know that. That's really cool!" I grinned back. His enthusiasm was contagious, even if I was still reeling from all this new information. "I guess I knew you were in college, but I didn't know where."

"It's a community college about a half hour bike ride from here," he responded.

"So, you're studying music?" I asked.

"I'm just taking some basics right now," he answered with a shrug. "My schedule is a little too busy to take classes full-time, so I'm trying to take two or three each semester until all the basics are out of the way. You know, math, science, history—those kinds of subjects. After that, I've been dreaming of enrolling in a counseling program at a university."

"Really?" I asked. I was invested, now, listening to him talk with my chin propped in one hand. "I mean, I just figured music would be your thing."

"It is," he said. "I love playing the guitar and I have so much fun with Kitty Section. I'd love for us to make it big as a band, but … I don't know. That dream's possible, but not definite. I believe in the band, but a lot of good bands don't ever get picked up by labels. Even if we did get popular enough for music to be a full-time job for me, I'm still passionate about counseling. I think it would be amazing to help people the way my counselors have helped me. So I still want to pursue that, too."

"You've thought a lot about this," I observed, a little surprised. I guess I'd assumed he was too laid-back to consider his future and goals quite this seriously. I felt bad. It was like this small idea of Luka I had was becoming a fleshed-out person right before my eyes.

He shrugged, then moved to pick his guitar back up. His fingers moved effortlessly, making a tune out of thin air and what must've been muscle memory. "Yeah. There's still a long way to go." He looked up at me playfully, but didn't stop playing. "Who knows? Something might change my mind down the line. I could end up being an astronaut."

I giggled. "Or a subway busker with a space gimmick." He laughed and shook his head, still playing.

* * *

**I think we can all agree that I don't know how college works in France and have no intention of looking it up. So I'm just gonna go with what I remember college being like/what I'm imagining it would be like in the world of the show.**


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